The Bite of Ice
by ALadyofRohan
Summary: When the Gods of Tamriel take pity on the dead Boromir they decide to give him a second chance and send him to Skyrim to aid the Dragonborn.
1. Chapter 1

**Preface**

_"To Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, until the end of days."_

Arkay dipped his golden hand into the cold waters of the Anduin. As he lifted it, a small pearly boat floated in the pool of water in his large palm. He looked upon the microscopic thing with sadness. His large fingers brushed his chestnut beard. Perhaps he could persuade the others…

Arkay lifted into the night air, going deep into the stars, where things turned to white and gold. The land of the Divines. He smoothed his beard and ruby red robes as he sat down on his throne, red and black with engraved figures of life and death.

His father, Akatosh, was seated across from him. His white hair outshining even the sun, his long white and gold beard falling low onto his sea foam robes which shimmered gold in the light. The circle of Gods was now complete.

Beautiful Mara held the hand of Akatosh, her delicate hands smoothing over his. Her soft eyes drooped sadly and she appeared to be looking down at her lush green dress.

Green and blue bearded Julianos looked upon Arkay curiously, and flowery blue Dibella whispered to Kynareth.

Dear Kynareth then looked up at Arkay, her pale blue skin glowing faintly and accenting her wondrous eyes.

"It seems you have a request of us." Akatosh began, speaking deeply, his dragon-like eyes flickering.

"I wish for an outside mortal to be brought into Tamriel." Arkay said.

The council was silent.

"Is he of significance?" Talos asked, taking a long draught of mead, letting it pour down his bronze beard.

"I believe so." Arkay concluded.

Curious, Stendarr asked who he was.

Arkay set the small boat on the table. The Divines looked on. A man with coppery hair lie inside clutching his sword. His pallor was almost blue, and many holes pierced his chest.

"This mortal is dead," Julianos said pointedly, "I see no significance in bringing him to Tamriel."

"Perhaps he has a greater purpose." Mara said gently.

"Agreed," Stendarr nodded, shaking his copper and blue mane, "He may be able to prove useful when things turn sour."

Arkay felt the glimmer of hope in his belly, "I would not ask if I did not deem it important, father."

Akatosh said quietly, pondering what was being said.

"Do you not think he will want to return home?" He asked.

"That will be his curse." Kynareth spoke quietly, "To walk under my skies in search of a home that is on a different plane. Bringing this man into an already hostile world." Her blue eyes watered, "I can already see him pining for his own soil. He will wish to return to Gondor, and will never have such pleasure."

"To some it would seem a punishment worse than death." Julianos said.

Arkay frowned, "This is a noble man; he deserves another life."

"What has he done?" Mara asked.

"Saved the lives of those he has cared for. The fate of the world he comes from is sealed, he helped to save it. I feel he will save Tamriel as well." Arkay said.

"The fate of Skyrim lies with another." Kynareth pointed out.

"It could be that he assists with this." Stendarr said.

Akatosh nodded, "It seems my firstborn has become too arrogant, his power will grow. I fear this. So go. Bring this man into Skyrim, see that he has each of our blessings, and may we watch over him in his quest. Be wary though, he may not pay heed to much we have to offer."

Arkay nodded, looking upon the man in the boat with a glimmer of both guilt and relief...

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_"Moonlight drowns out all but the brightest stars."_

Lucia fumbled with the dead grass, dry yellow blades crumbling in her soft hand; she sighed sadly. It was still early in the morning, so no one in Whiterun had even come out to start the day. Lucia ran her tiny fingers through her golden hair, listening to the horses at the stable mumbling in their own language and pawing at the ground. She looked up into the distance, catching a glimpse of the Throat of the World before the sunrise. The moons were still out. It was this period of limbo that gave grace to the Skyrim landscape. The only comfort Lucia sought outside of the city. She stood up, dusting the grass off of her tattered skirt and set out to explore.

It had been a particularly warm start to the morning, which suited Lucia just fine. Her Imperial blood couldn't handle much of what the Native Nords could. It was this particular reason she sought out finding a hideaway once aunt and uncle kicked her out of her now dead mother's home.

No. She couldn't think about that right now. She had a mission.

Lucia followed the stream that ran past the Khajiit camp. Heading towards Whiterun's guard tower, she turned to the woods that pointed in the direction of Riverwood. The ringing of Nirnroot came closer as she neared a greater part of the river. She walked the log she set up like an expert, getting to the other side with ease.

There it was. Lucia smiled.

Hidden under a small cove was a small cave. There was only small remnants of wolves having been there decades ago, otherwise it was untouched by the world, save Lucia's handiwork. True, it wasn't very large, but it was warm and homelike.

Off in the back was a knobby little table, the one Belethor had thrown out just days ago. It was really the centerpiece of this makeshift home. It was roughly hewn and shaped, but it did its job easily. Atop the table was a carved crate housing rich dirt Lucia had taken from the farm. Sprouting from the rich soil was an abundance of blue mountain flowers. Next to the table was a cracked milk jug, sprouting dragon's tongue as tall as Lucia's leg. Hanging from the cave ceiling was moss and an iron rod that random ingredients such as frost miriam, garlic cloves, butterfly wings of all colors, and even a rare pheasant hung from. There was the rabbit she caught yesterday on a tree stump next to her, and in the center was a place to start a fire on cold Skyrim nights.

Under the table, Lucia pulled out a small strongbox with a rusted and broken lock. Opening it, she pulled out her doll, Freida, and a horsehair brush.

For the next half hour, Lucia brushed the doll's wiry golden strands, talking to it as though it knew every secret Lucia had. She wiped her sweating hands onto her tattered green dress and took a glance outside. The sun began to set its glow at the top of Dragon's Reach, meaning that the farmers would come out any second to tend to their growing crops. The First Planting was only a few weeks ago and already there were sprouts greeting the fresh Skyrim air.

Winter was always present in Skyrim, but some months were the worst. This was The Last Seed, meaning that it was still warm (relatively). By the time Heartfire and Frostfall passed, there would be snow almost everywhere. Lucia never really liked the snow, her Imperial blood never adjusted to the cold of Whiterun. However she heard from Brenuin that Winterhold was the coldest and snowiest province in Skyrim, so she supposed Whiterun wasn't too terrible to live in. If living is what you'd call it.

She shook these thoughts from her head again. Lucia scurried around her den to find her patched up apothecary satchel, perhaps she'll actually make some money today?

Setting Freida back in the strongbox, Lucia set her satchel over her shoulder and went outside. The wind blew around some dirt which rustled into Lucia's hair, making her frown. She couldn't stay clean to save her life in this wretched place. Lucia walked over reluctantly to the wider part of the river and splashed her face with the cool water. When she wiped her eyes clear, her jaw dropped.

Floating towards her was a lone white figure. She wasn't sure what shape it started taking, only that it kept hitting the river bank with every thrust the water sent forth.

Lucia dropped her satchel and ran towards the object, which seemed to grow substantially every time she took a step. It became clear it was a boat, however this boat was clearly not any ordinary boat.

It was considerably long and ivory white, like nothing could ever stain the surface of it. Lucia grabbed the side of it and pulled it closer, she found it to be much lighter than she would have ever expected. The wood it was made of was smooth. No splinter could have tried to find its way onto this vessel. Because it was surprisingly light, Lucia managed to get the boat halfway onto solid ground before she stopped cold, eyes widening at the sight she somehow missed.

There was a man. He didn't move but Lucia felt that if she even took a breath that he would lunge at her. He wasn't scary. Not really. Just intimidating. It was with all her willpower that Lucia uttered a slight "hello" to the man.

No response.

Was he dead?

She pulled the boat even more into the grass so that she could get a better look at this man.

His face was pale, and now, Lucia saw there was a glimmer of the sort of kindness a favorite uncle gives in his cheekbones and clear laugh lines. His hair was coppery with slight hints of the color of a dwarven ingot.

Lucia became brave and leaned over the side of the boat. His face became even more distinct. Covered in sweat, he glimmered like a sleeping God. His ragged and slight breathing was the only hint that gave away the fact he was indeed alive. Lucia reached out her hand to touch his forehead, for he seemed ridden with fever. She found her statement to be true.

Mustering up even more courage, the young girl started to drag the boat with the man towards her den. She knew in her bones he needed her help. Stopping at the entrance, Lucia ran back for her satchel. Then she came back to the boat and pushed it vertically until it descended slightly into her den. She could hear items in the boat moving about, but her priority was to get this thing inside.

Once it was inside, Lucia felt that it filled her den up nicely enough to leave her some room to move about.

Carefully, she took the man's oversized shield and rolled it into the corner behind her table. She was wary about his sword, for it was heavier than the boat, but she managed to get it onto the table along with a broken horn which she found to be quite pretty.

Lucia then huffed. She had to push the boat all the way to the back of the wall and started shimmying it so that it began to tip the man over onto the ground. Once he fell with a great thud Lucia set the boat back down and set about dragging the man closer to the middle of the room. She took his beautiful cloak out from under him and set it aside, then she put the only pillow she had under his head to give it elevation.

She wasn't sure how his armor worked, but she managed to at least get his surcoat undone. It was clear that he was sweating with the fever profusely and it made Lucia tear up. She had to remove his jerkin and chainmail in order to give him some cold air.

While the cool breeze flew in and tried to help bring down the intense fever of this man, Lucia set about making a fire to brew a tonic. The fire was small, but tenacious enough to warm up the small black kettle and start to boil the water Lucia ran to the river to fetch.

Carefully, she dropped in the pulled petals of the blue mountain flowers she had and then sprinkled a handful of wheat into the mixture. She knew from Arcadia that the juices from the flower mixed in and melted the wheat to create a healing elixir. As she stirred the mixture together she threw in more of the petals and wheat. The water seeped in and began to solidify into a thick syrup-type liquid. Lucia ran over to her table and grabbed a bowl to pour in the mixture. It wasn't much, but it would suffice for the night. She'd just have to barter for more later.

Lucia ran back outside, tore a piece of cloth from her skirt, and dipped it in the cool river water. Quickly she rushed into her cave and set the cold cloth on the man's forehead. His mouth seemed to contract at its sides, like the water was painful at first, but then his pale lips softened again. She sat his head and torso up, holding the cloth to his head and making the man sip down the elixir.

Once he drank down the liquid, Lucia sat him back on the ground. She ran her fingers through her gross blonde hair, already tired. But she stood up, stoked the fire, picked up her satchel, then looked at the man.

"You're going to be very hungry when you wake up." She said to the sleeping figure.

Lucia went outside, dusted herself off, then headed for the Whiterun walls.


	2. Chapter 2

"_Where there's life there's hope, and need of vittles."_

It was dark and raining in Whiterun as the day started to close. Down the river, going South, was the little town of Riverwood. It's inhabitants were slowly walking from work at the mill and heading over to The Sleeping Giant to grab an ale or mead and head back home to rest up for another monotonous day of hard labor. There wasn't much to the town, no walls for defense, a river running right beside it which both powered the main source of it's income and provided fish for the villagers to live on; and the people were fiercely loyal to each other and that's what really kept the town going.

There were few customers tonight inside The Sleeping Giant, and those who were there kept mainly to themselves. Sven, the Bard, tried with mediocre effort to play his pipes and lighten the dreary mood, but Orgnar, the barkeep, repeatedly kept shooting dirty looks at the bard.

Lucan Valerius was sitting by the fire and sipping on his mead, when Hod, the mill owner, came to sit next to him. Lucan had been overly distraught about his shop getting robbed the other night by bandits. The only thing stolen was his precious Golden Claw. It was the most valuable and important thing he had (other than his sister) and he had to figure out a way to get it back from those thieves…

Hod made small chat with the shopkeeper about the sudden onset of rain they had this night. Lucan told him that Skyrim was notorious for its terrible weather. Then both men sat quietly and drank.

The rain could be heard pounding on the roof. Delphine opened the door and saw that the road leading through town was sloshing up and down in a muddy dance, she closed the door to her inn and told Orgnar to stoke the fire so it roared.

Hod paid Delphine five coins and went on his way home before the rain got worse and so that his wife wouldn't grouse about him drinking. Sven ended his final song and packed up his instruments, . He knew his mother was cooking dinner and he didn't want to miss out. Lucan rubbed his temples, paid Delphine, and then went on his way to make sure Sven didn't pay a visit to his sister.

The Sleeping Giant Inn was now even more quiet than before. Orgnar and Delphine made small chat about the Skeever infestation that needed to be tended to, while they went around and swept the place clean again. The rain kept pouring, it was clear that no one would come to the Sleeping Giant Inn that night. Delphine told Orgnar to go ahead and turn in, she'd stay up for a while in case any customer was crazy enough to brave the rain. It was almost three in the morning when Delphine decided to turn in herself. No one came to the Inn that night…

* * *

It rained for three days and four nights. Barely anyone ever came to the in during those days. The streets were rivers of mud and it stung Riverwood with a fierce and biting cold.

Delphine, being of Breton blood, hated the cold, but she tolerated it as long as a fire burned in the middle of her Inn and there was warm food in her belly.

She sat behind the counter and twirled her light blonde braid with her forefinger. She hadn't seen a customer in over two days and she was extremely restless. She sent Orgnar out an hour ago to gather wood so it could dry inside, Gods knew when the rain was going to stop.

The door to the Inn swung open. The sound of the rain was deafening to Delphine's ears and she stood up expecting Orgnar to be carrying a bundle of pre-chopped wood.

Instead, who closed the door was a cloaked figure, only slightly smaller than Orgnar.

Delphine's eyebrow raised, "Can I help you?" She asked. A pale, slender hand pulled the drenched hood back.

The face in which was revealed was that of a woman. Her hair seemed black, but Delphine could see that as the woman came towards her that her hair was a deep coffee brown and the sides of it were pulled back with braids, leaving the rest of her soaked hair to rest on her shoulders.

"Could I have a room for the night, please?" The woman asked, looking around the Inn. Her accent was strange, not that of any local Nord, but one of exotic properties that you would hear in a Khajiit, only her voice wasn't as gravelly.

Delphine seemed almost entranced by the honey voice that this woman had, and she nearly lost her train of thought. "If you've got the coin, I've got the room."

She said. The woman looked at the open rooms, "I'm sorry, you must be very busy. Perhaps I'll take my business elsewhere."

Delphine narrowed her eyes, "Ten gold pieces."

The woman went into her satchel and slapped the coins on the counter, "Thank you." She said.

Delphine led her to the small room to the left side of the Inn. She stood in the doorway, observing the woman as she took off her cloak. She was wearing the armor of an Imperial soldier, she even had the sword, but her actions didn't seem typical of any Imperial soldier that passed through here...

"If you need anything let me know." Delphine said, still looking at the woman through the slits of her eyes.

The woman perked up at the sound of Delphine's voice, "Thank you."

"Yeah." Delphine nodded to herself, turning away from the woman before she was called out for staring too long. She shut the door behind her.

Inside the room, the woman had set her muddy leather boots to the side and tried her best to bring the feeling back to her raisin-like feet. The skin was shriveled from the intense rain and it would be a while before they returned back to normal. The woman sat upon her straw bed and stared at the door. Her face was hard-set, she was concentrating on her thoughts too much to realize that the rain finally stopped thundering down onto the roof. The color in her eyes flickered from baby blue to a light spring-like green as her thoughts twirled inside of her.

She knew she needed to get plenty of sleep, the day ahead was going to be arduous and she knew that even if she got a few hours of rest, she would be just fine. Her eyes reluctantly closed and she drifted into an uneasy black blur.


	3. Chapter 3

"_Do not scorn pity that is the gift of a gentle heart…"_

Lucia slept in her cave rather than inside the walls of Whiterun that night. Due to its decline into the earth she had to set up a few logs at the entrance to keep most of the rain out, whatever drops decided to fall in were instantly soaked up by the soft dirt.

The man slept soundly, his fever decreasing slowly through the rainy days. He got to where he mumbled in his sleep, naming things that Lucia had no knowledge about. Once in a while he would call out to a Faramir or even sometimes Gondor.

'Who was Gondor?' Lucia wondered as she stirred her blue flowers in her small kettle, paying heed to the amount she put in, too much of one thing could send the man into dangerous shock, so Lucia kept nursing him slowly and taking extra care to set cool rags on his face.

Maybe she should've gone to Arcadia…

'No!' She thought, 'I found him, he's my responsibility!'

So Lucia kept on, rotating between cloths to keep them cool (for which the rain proved very useful), and when she wasn't caring for the man-whom she dubbed Ignatius for the time being-she played with her dolls and went about rationing her small amounts of food.

Lucia wasn't sure how long she'd been in her cave, only that one night the rain finally stopped. It had been keeping back the horrible nights sounds, but now they were back and Lucia had to be extra careful.

"Once you wake, Ignatius," Lucia sat him up again to drip medicine down his throat, "You'll be able to keep the monsters away."

Lucia waited for the rest of the medicine to drain into Ignatius before she stoked the fire, ate her portion of goat cheese and bread, and brushed out her hair. She then went to the cave entrance to separate the partial barrier she created. A burst of cool air ran into the cave, dancing with the flames of the fire. The snap of cold made Ignatius stir. Lucia ran over to him.

When she set her cool hand on his forehead she could tell the fever finally broke, which relieved her, the one thin, dark shirt he wore was still soaked with sweat, but Lucia was wary to remove it, she'd just have to wait…

Ignatius muttered again, this time about something called Isildur and a Bane. It was in this moment that his breathing started to quicken, his nostrils flared, and the intensity of a nightmare made the man flutter his eyes open painfully.

Lucia gasped, she wasn't sure if this was a good thing at all, and she ran to the corner of her cave holding her small butter knife. She waited.

Ignatius' head moved from side to side, making it obvious that he was making sense of where he was. His eyes looked now to the small form in the corner, his lips moved slightly as if he was trying to say something to Lucia, but no sound came forward. Lucia now found that he wasn't so scary, and she moved forward slightly so she could get a better look at Ignatius.

She spoke softly, "I'm Lucia." Her voice quivered.

Ignatius looked at the little girl with confusion, his head moved again from side to side and his eyes were now fully open. Struggling, Ignatius managed to sit up, moving to the cave wall to support himself. He looked again at Lucia, his breathing ragged and weak.

Lucia made patterns in the dirt with her foot, "I...found you in that." She pointed to the white boat leaning against the opposite wall, "You were sick."

Ignatius looked over to the boat, his eyes wide, his lips moved again, this time a deep and soft voice came forth.

"Where," He struggled to speak, "am I." Lucia lowered her guard when he spoke, feeling comfort in the few small words he uttered, "Whiterun." She answered.

The confusion was even more prominent on Ignatius' face, "What province of Middle Earth is that?"

Now it was Lucia's turn to be utterly dumbfounded, "What's a Middle Earth?" They both looked at each other with raised eyebrows and pursed lips. Ignatius coughed and let his head fall against the dirt wall.

"Um," Lucia finally said, "You probably want something to eat."

Ignatius finally became aware of the gnawing feeling in his stomach, "If you would not mind…"

This made Lucia smile, "Well it's not often I have a guest." She jested as she grabbed her kettle off of the small fire, holding its handles with a woolen cloth.

When she went outside to quickly wash the medicine out, Ignatius sat in the cave. He coughed again, his mind wandered as to where Whiterun may be in Middle Earth. True, the little girl had no knowledge of Middle Earth, perhaps she hasn't learned that in a school yet.

"Would you like some soup, Ignatius?" Lucia wandered in, holding her freshly cleaned kettle, "It might sit on your stomach better than bread or cheese."

Ignatius nodded, then looked at her, "Who is Ignatius?"

Lucia paused after she put the kettle on the spit, "It was the name I gave you." She smiled innocently.

"Well that is not my name." The man said, his nose scrunching tightly.

"How was I supposed to know?" Lucia scoffed, chopping up carrots on her small table.

The man nodded, "I suppose you have a point, and it does no good for me to have your name if you don't have mine." He shifted his position so he faced Lucia, "My proper name is Boromir, son of Denethor."

Lucia giggled, "Do you say that all at once when someone is talking to you?" She held back a large laugh, "Boromir, son of Denethor.

"No, just Boromir will do."

* * *

Since the rain had stopped that night the woman had been on the road. The impending breath of autumn's slow transition to winter clung in the air and the rain started to freeze lightly over the sides of the dirt path that led the woman from Riverwood to Whiterun.

It was her specific task to go to the Jarl of Whiterun to ask for aid to Riverwood, the rain had pushed her into the Inn while it was pouring, and every day she was delayed, the oncoming threat of an enemy no one could fathom grew.

The woman continued to walk the path, coming upon a sign that told her that Whiterun was nearing. A dull Imperial sword clanked against her worn leather boots. She made a slight descending and saw that the Jarl's palace-Dragonsreach-was in sight. Her pace began to quicken, her long legs pushing her further than most Nord's of Skyrim could. Now the entirety of the city of Whiterun was in her view. She walked even faster down the hill that took her out of the woods, not even bothering to use the path now.

Once she made it to one of the farms on the outer part of the city, the woman forced herself to stop.

Over in one of the fields she could see a mass of figures locked in a battle of sorts. She looked over to the city, then back at those fighting and rolled her eyes, unsheathing her sword as she ran to the fighters. As she came closer she regretted her decision. A group of men and women were at the feet of a giant, swinging its giant club at those who attacked him.

Giants attacking a farm was naturally not a very good thing, so the woman made a jump over the fence, aided by the moonlight, and slid in the mud on her knees. Under the giants legs she swept through, slashing the weak point of both if its ankles with her sword and dagger. Now out from under the giant, the woman stood up slowly while the giant fell to the ground helpless.

A large man with a greatsword came over to the giants neck and gave it a quick beheading. Blood spattered on his face and he kicked the head away.

The woman cleaned her sword and sheathed it once more, reminding herself it needed to be sharpened. When she looked up she saw a red haired woman with a shocked look on her face coming towards her. She looked about the same age as the woman did, only wiser.

"That was some interesting fighting, friend." She said.

"Fighting," The woman shook her head, "Just cut the tendon of the ankle and your enemy is down. It's merely a dirty tactic."

"Aye, but useful." The redheaded woman said, "I'm Aela. The Huntress." She took the woman's hand. "You should come up to Jorrvaskr, talk to Kodlak Whitemane. The companions could use a fighter like you." Her mouth pulled up in a devilish smirk.

"Thanks, but no thanks." The woman shook her head, "I'm not a fighter."

"Suit yourself, but the Companions are always there if you're looking for work.

Then Adela crossed her arms and turned around, following her fellow Companions into Whiterun. The woman shook her head, following from a safe distance. She waited for them to enter the city before she came up to the gate guards.

"Halt," One of them said, his steel helmet muffling his voice, "No one enters the city unless you have permission from the Jarl."

The woman sighed in annoyance, "Riverwood calls for aid."

The guards looked at on each other.

"I don't believe you." The other guard scoffed.

"Gerdur sent me." The woman pleaded, "Please, they need help."

Again the guards looked at each other.

"Alright," The first one said, "But we're keeping a close eye on you." He pointed his finger at her."

"Thank you." The woman said softly.

Once the gates were opened, the woman raced through the sleeping city, going through the Market District and up the stairs to the Cloud District. A large tree stood in the center courtyard. The woman was caught off guard by how dead it looked.

She ran past the tree and up another flight of wooden stairs to Dragonsreach, palace of the Jarl. A large wooden structure magnificently built to tower over its city. Carved dragon head protruded from the roof, making the woman extremely uneasy. She went to the door and opened it.

Inside Dragonsreach was even more fantastic than it was from the outside. A large fire burning in the center of a large dining hall, and before the fire was the Jarl's throne. even at this late hour the Jarl was wide awake, being counseled by a small squirrel-like man and a regal-looking female dark elf.

The dark elf took one look at the woman and puffed out her chest, going towards her with an air of aggression, her hand on her sword hilt.

"Jarl Balgruuff accepts no visitors. Who are you? What do you need?" She asked quickly.

The woman narrowed her eyes, "I'm a messenger from Riverwood, they call for the Jarls help."

"Irileth," The Jarl then said, his voice booming and his face grave, "Let her come forth."

The woman bowed her head and stepped towards the Jarl, looking warily at Irileth as she did so.

"Gerdur of Riverwood sent me." The woman said dryly. "She needs soldiers sent over, they have to be protected."

"There must be more to that," Jarl Balgruuff said, rubbing his bearded chin, "There is a look about you that tells me there is yet another piece of information. Speak."

The woman sighed sharply with her mouth closed, then she let her arms fall to her sides weakly and looked directly into the Jarl's eyes, "Dragons."


End file.
